You and me, we make the most
by Nova Delphine
Summary: One-shot written a long time ago, but never posted here.  Chloe and Ollie at the end of "Fortune".


One-shot written a long time ago, but never posted here. Was based on spoilers for the episode "Fortune".

Some things that need to be assumed for this to make sense:

1: There's no Omega on Ollie's skull. I'm all for !darkOllie on the show, but for this, he's 100% Omega free.

2: The party shenanigans took place in a Vegas-esque locale, so Chloe and Ollie are camped out in a hotel.

3: Chloe came to with Clark. Ollie came to with Lois. That said, the only talk of rings was Lois' missing engagement ring.

Okay, hopefully that all makes sense and, therefore, the story will also make sense... I disclaim. Not my characters.

* * *

><p><strong>You and me, we make the most<strong>

Tucking the full ice bucket against her side, Chloe slid the hotel key card out of her back pocket and opened the door to her suite. Entering the dimly lit foyer, she reached behind her to secure the lock before making her way into the living room; her eyes skating over to the huge picture windows to enjoy the way the city's neon lights painted the buildings and streets in bright, blinking colour. Pausing at the bathroom, she snagged a fluffy white hand towel off the rack next to the sink and then headed towards the bedroom. Nudging past the door, she smiled softly at the sight of Oliver stretched out on the king sized bed; his arms thrown across his face to block out the little bit of light coming from the lamp perched on the nightstand. Noticing the jeans and t-shirt he wore, she glanced around the room until she spotted the rumpled pile of sparkly sequins and feathers in the corner.

"You changed, huh?" she teased as she padded over to the nightstand and deposited the bucket there.

Without moving his arms, he sent a sulky grunt in her general direction.

"I don't know what you're so sour about," she observed dryly as she shook open the towel and started scooping ice into it. "Those long legs of yours didn't look too shabby in that itty bitty skirt."

His arms shifted around his head to accommodate the glare he aimed at her. "Not funny," he growled lowly, the words just a little muffled by his forearm.

"It's kinda funny," she corrected with an unapologetic grin, her practiced hands twisting the ends of the towel into a knot before she took a seat beside him on the bed.

Abandoning any plans to shame her with hostility, his arms flopped to his sides and he schooled his features into an exceptionally irritated pout. "Your cousin's a bad person," he griped. "A bad, mean, cruel—"

"Resourceful," she interjected, leaning forward to carefully examine the ugly, purple bruise that marred his forehead and crept into his hairline.

"You're as bad as her!" he accused resentfully, wincing when she pressed the make shift ice pack to his injury. "Making fun of me… I'm concussed you know!"

Rolling her eyes, she grabbed his right hand off the bed and lifted it towards his head until he was holding the ice in place himself. "You don't have a concussion," she countered knowingly, giving his thigh a pat as she sat back.

"I fell down a flight of stairs!" he reminded her sullenly, moving the ice gingerly over his bruise.

"Well, heels aren't meant for the faint of heart," she smirked. "You gotta be tough."

Eyeing her from behind the towel, he grunted in agreement. "Makes me wonder how you've lasted this long, given the stilts you're so fond of."

"I wear them out of necessity," she explained with a cheeky wink. "I have to do something to keep myself from feeling freakishly short around you and Clark."

Finally cracking a smile, he nodded at her eagerly. "You are freaky short."

"And you wear girls' clothes," she volleyed back without missing a beat.

The broad smile that had appeared instantly dropped and his frown returned, worse than ever. "You're killing me here, you know that right?"

"And you're being overly sensitive," she pointed out brightly.

"_Overly sensitive_?" he echoed, plainly appalled by her cavalier approach to his very recent humiliation. "An entire casino saw me dressed as a showgirl! I'm allowed to get upset about it!"

Cocking her head to the side, she stared at him expectantly.

"Don't," he warned, wagging a finger at her. "Don't give me the big, doll eyes. I'm pissed."

Blinking innocently, she upped the ante by flashing him a soft smile.

He sighed mightily.

"Fine, whatever," he surrendered miserably. "It's only my pride. Who cares?"

Triumphant, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips, succeeding in coaxing a small grin out of him. "Think silver lining," she suggested as she pulled back ever so slightly, her hands staying behind to stroke his jaw tenderly. "At least you made _something_about this little adventure memorable."

Her reference to the big blank spot in their collective memory was supposed to make his smile widen and help ease the tension out of his shoulders – maybe even inspire him to join her in a bitch session about Zatanna and her decidedly warped sense of humour. It didn't.

"Speaking of memorable," he said slowly, clearly trying for casual, but really only managing slightly less than strangled. "Do you happen to remember anything… significant… about last night? "

"Me?" she checked, her head tilting curiously at his sudden shift from playful to serious.

"Yeah," he clarified as he visibly swallowed, "any bits or pieces floating around by any chance?"

Her heart stuttered then started racing, pumping blood through her cheeks and down the column of her throat hot and fast. "I got nothing," she whispered awkwardly.

His head cocked uncertainly at her answer, his eyes – no doubt – registering the warning sign that was her rapidly reddening skin. "Nothing at all?" he pressed anxiously.

"Do you remember something?" she deflected faintly.

Their eyes locked and for one, agonizingly tense moment, they watched each other breath.

"Damn it!" he cursed under his breath, finally snapping their stalemate when his face twisted into a truly painful looking cringe.

"Oliver?"

Avoiding her alarm, he dug into his jean pocket and pulled out a small, gold ring.

"When I came to this morning," he announced hoarsely, holding the band up for her to see, "I was wearing this."

Mouth ajar, her eyes darted from the ring, to Oliver, then back again.

"I got it off before Lois saw," he stammered, the words falling out in a hurried rush. "I just could not deal with that interrogation… but I was definitely wearing this and I definitely don't remember putting it on, and that's why I was really, _really _hoping you remembered _something _from last night, cause I've tried, but I don't, and I'm a little terrified of what this means."

Her eyes blinked rapidly, her stomach tied itself into several excruciating knots, and her mouth went bone dry, all of which – apparently – rendered her wholly incapable of forming a single word.

"Chloe?"

Forcing her eyes away from the ring, she looked at his wretched expression and sucked in a deep breath. Reaching into her own pocket, she pulled out a smaller version of his band and showed it to him.

His eyes bulged and his mouth dropped open, and if she hadn't been shaking so badly, she probably would have found the reaction hilarious. She probably also would have been better prepared for the moment when he launched himself at her.

"I knew it!" he exclaimed wildly, his larger body knocking her back and pinning her underneath him.

"The ice!" She sputtered, attempting to dodge the frozen cubes that started raining down on her when he pounced.

"I knew it had to be you!" he laughed happily, alternating between kissing her and sweeping the offending ice onto the floor. "Drunk or not, I knew it had to be you!"

Suddenly, he went completely still. "We are married to each other, right?"

Before she could stop herself, she let out a startled laugh. "The certificate I found in my purse this morning kinda confirms it."

For some reason, a weirdly giddy part of her brain expected him to carry on celebrating, but he just kept hovering over her, looking exceptionally perplexed.

"Are you telling me you've known we were married since this morning?"

She automatically opened her mouth to answer affirmatively, but caught herself when it struck her just how bad that would sound.

"There was _a lot _going on today," she defended cautiously, trying to get a reading on his mood. "Between figuring out what the hell happened last night and staging a rescue for you and Lois, my schedule was a little packed."

"I don't know if you noticed," he countered quietly, his voice as cautious as hers, "but I've been rescued for a couple hours now."

Her eyes, which had been watching him so intently, cut away to consider an indistinguishable patch of ceiling she could see just beyond his shoulder.

"Hey," he whispered as he hooked a finger under her chin and guided her gaze back to him. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Um, cause it's kind of a big deal," she snapped, her words sharper than they needed to be.

"And?" he prompted, ignoring the way she tensed beneath him.

"Maybe I didn't know what to say," she offered flippantly. "Maybe I was worried you'd freak out."

He arched a doubtful brow. "Do I look like I'm freaking out?"

She pursed her lips and started squirming, trying to manoeuvre her way out from under him.

"No, you actually seem to be taking it all pretty well," she admitted reluctantly, "and, frankly, it's more unsettling than the presumed freak out."

Realization dawned in his eyes. "You're upset about this."

The hurt in his voice was unmistakable and her chest tightened with the knowledge that she was the cause of it.

"How are you not upset?" she exclaimed frantically, her voice barely recognizable to her own ears as it tipped dangerously towards hysteria. "We're married! Like, _right now_ – at this very second – you and I are husband and wife… which we've never, ever talked about before. At all. And there's no prenup, so that's bad, and…"

"And?" he murmured softly, reaching out to tuck some hair behind her ear.

Her lip trembled involuntarily. "And we don't even remember getting married."

Eyes scanning her face deliberately, he cleared his throat.

"So, we should get this… annulled?" He asked lowly, the last word catching ever so slightly.

The gutted look he wore made her eyes sting with tears she desperately didn't want to give in to.

"I swear, I'm not saying any of this to hurt you," she choked out. "But we have to do something, right?"

Dark eyes blinking furiously, he started shifting away from her, but abruptly stopped and turned to look back down at her determinedly.

"Okay, here's the thing," he stated plainly, "all that stuff you said is true and it matters… it definitely matters."

Her brows drew together in confusion as she listened to him attentively.

"I know that this is all totally backwards," he continued earnestly, "but I can't help feeling like that's kinda our thing."

Her frown deepened. "Pardon?"

"You and me," he clarified, his hand gesturing between them. "Unconventional is how we roll. We slept together before we ever dated. We said _I love you_, then spent months apart. And last night, we got married under the influence."

"Is this supposed to be making me feel better?" She stammered dubiously.

He sighed in frustration. "I know, sorry, it made more sense in my head, I just…"

Stopping himself, he swallowed hard and gathered his thoughts. "What I'm trying to say – apparently as unromantically as possible – is that it never seems to matter that we don't do things the _right _way, cause when it comes to you, I always end up exactly where I want to be."

Inhaling sharply, she felt a tear crawling down the side of her cheek.

"I know that the circumstances aren't great," he whispered as he wiped up the tear with his thumb, "but here we are, just you and me, and you're my wife." He smiled gently, catching another tear that was trying to slip into her hair. "That's as perfect as I'll ever need anything to be."

Floored, she gaped up at him and, without consciously choosing to do so, voiced the only thought tripping through her brain. "That was actually pretty romantic."

He chuckled deeply, the sound heartfelt. "Well, if you liked that…"

He trailed his hand down her arm, over her wrist, and stopped when he reached her shaking fingers, pulling the gold band out of her grasp.

"Chloe Sullivan," he declared, holding the ring steadily between them, "will you stay married to me?"

Smiling though tears, she released a watery giggle.

"Is that a _yes_?" he checked warmly.

Reaching over her shoulder, she walked her fingers over the bedspread until she found his hand near her head, and swiped the ring he was clutching.

"I will if you will," she offered softly, holding the band out to mimic his gesture.

"Seriously?" He scoffed. "Did you just hijack my proposal?"

She met the smile on his face with a massive one of her own.

"Take it or leave it," she shrugged.

"Take it," he agreed without hesitation and, together, they slipped the rings onto each others' fingers. "Definitely take it," he whispered as he dipped forward and kissed her.


End file.
